Runaway sun, renegade palm trees
Edge of the map, a man with a suitcase
Copa No Place

Paints up his skin, tries to go native
Aches for Gauguin, barely makes Gilligan

All the whores in the hotel bar
Takin' bets on just how far
This pup ain't goin'

And the whores say "ooh, novice castaway"
"Your a mortgage note in a nomad's way"
"Ooh, passport's stamped marooned"
"But you've got a back to go back to"
"You ain't got the wind in your shoes"

This island's a slum, tin shacks and sand fleas
Put a shell to your ear, still hear the city
Headache movie
I should've past this sand trap by
But when your wallet's dry, ya can't gypsy

And the gypsies say "ooh, go home wounded guest"
"Don't ask us strays how to build a nest"
"Ooh, that's a lost desire 'cause we're running sick and the dream's gone sour"
"You ain't got the wind in your shoes"

But the Gotta Go Breeze blows harder and harder
And ooh it's so contagious
Jets whine my name, train whistles it too
Everyone's smiling on the posters...
The only reason we are still not running around on all fours is so we can look up and read the departure monitor

The mission's on fire, heathens and pagans
Down in the swamp, Venus is bathing
Fever season
Tell the rebels in the hills, take a break until I sell
Someone a ticket's worth of something

Ooh, a nightmare's haunting me
I grow roots, become a tree
I bud poetry
But then a concrete flood buries me

Ooh, where's my masterpiece?
I wrote it down on a banana leaf
Ooh, move on, wounded guest
Damn, a wave just soaked my cigarettes
That's okay, I've got the wind in my shoes.